[ Richie's room is a disaster zone at the best of times. Even back home in Derry, he'd only fastidiously clean if it could get him a few quarters for the arcade, and while his mom did tidy it up on occasion it was a matter of time before clothes wound up on the floor, clutter was strewn about, and a visual confirmation that the floor existed was up in the air. Deerington isn't much better. Well, i's a little better, but it's still comparing a trash can to a dumpster. There's no food, it's just Stuff with a capital S, as disorganized and chaotic as Richie's mind is. It's not like he would clean if he was asked to, anyway. Not with his current state of mind.
The thing is, there's something wrong. Weird doesn't even begin to describe what Richie's feeling about this whole thing--it tugs at his chest and snaps at his heels. He can't stop thinking about it, either, and it's not like sleeping will help. Worst of all, it's different than It. It wasn't real. It was It. These were people he's killed. Real people.
Boy, howdy.
He's healing a little faster than Eddie, probably because his mind hasn't been thinking of every little way his body can fuck up in the healing process, and when he hears the door open he doesn't even roll over and sit up to see who it is. He knows. ]
If they came back, we didn't really kill them, did we?
[ There's no point in beating around the bush. 'Hi, Eddie, I know why you can't sleep, let's cut to the chase'. He wriggles around, groping for his glasses and knocking a large pile of comic books (where he had the time or money to get them is a mystery) from the nightstand. ]
no subject
The thing is, there's something wrong. Weird doesn't even begin to describe what Richie's feeling about this whole thing--it tugs at his chest and snaps at his heels. He can't stop thinking about it, either, and it's not like sleeping will help. Worst of all, it's different than It. It wasn't real. It was It. These were people he's killed. Real people.
Boy, howdy.
He's healing a little faster than Eddie, probably because his mind hasn't been thinking of every little way his body can fuck up in the healing process, and when he hears the door open he doesn't even roll over and sit up to see who it is. He knows. ]
If they came back, we didn't really kill them, did we?
[ There's no point in beating around the bush. 'Hi, Eddie, I know why you can't sleep, let's cut to the chase'. He wriggles around, groping for his glasses and knocking a large pile of comic books (where he had the time or money to get them is a mystery) from the nightstand. ]